Hands
by Unauthorizedx
Summary: Drabble; Austria examines Prussia's hands.


**Title: **Hands

**Author: **Myself.

**Length:** 845

**Warnings: **Human names used.

**Rating: **G

**Characters: **Prussia, Austria

**Pairings: **Prussia/Austria if you squint.

**Summary: **Drabble; Austria examines Prussia's hands.

**Author's Note: **Yet another piece from my Tumblr, albeit this one has some minor changes to make it more..uh..shippy?

Please enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia and the characters are not mine and I hold no rights to anything other than the writing.

xxxxx

Roderich doesn't know what comes over him. One moment, Gilbert is waving his arms excitedly while he rambled on about something-or-other, and the next, Roderich has him sitting beside him on the sofa, holding one of the other man's slightly larger hands.

"What the hell, Specs?" Gilbert asks, earning him a scathing look from the Austrian nation and a swift cuff to the head; Roderich has long lost his aristocrat ways around Gilbert, as he has leant that the albino reacts better to violence than to words.

"Quiet," he tells him, turning up his nose in the way that only he can. The action makes Gilbert scoff, but he falls silent and only fidgets every so often. Roderich doesn't approve of the latter, however he has also learnt that Gilbert needs to move constantly and becomes extremely uncomfortable otherwise, so he lets it slide.

He turns back to his hand, then, holding it so that the palm is facing up and the fingers are spread. The first thing he notices is how Gilbert's hands were not made for fine details - Roderich's hands are slender and comparatively delicate, whereas Gilbert's are wide and rugged. There are calluses on his hands, too, those of a man who has held a sword for a long, long time; they form on the inside of his thumb and along the opposite edge of his palm, along with on the fingertips. He notes, with some mild surprise, that those calluses are also those of a writer, and that either Gilbert has written far more than he has held a sword, or that he holds a pen tightly in his fingers - it's probably both in this case.

There's also a shake to his fingers, and he is fairly certain it's not from a lack of movement. Gilbert's hands tremble from something suppressed, and when Austria folds a hand over them, the old kingdom's jaw tenses and he has to visibly keep himself from turning his head away. It's intriguing, but the cause is clearly not something the other wishes to tell him, so he moves on.

"Hands tell a lot about a person, you know," Roderich says slowly, like he's chewing the words carefully before speaking. "This line, for instance," He indicates the top line of Gilbert s palm with his forefinger, "says that you do not express your emotions freely. And this one," he traces out the relatively short and gently sloping second line here, "says that you don t really have very complex thoughts - not a surprise there - but that you are rather creative. Look, see, there s a fork here at the end, which usually means you re very imaginative, which I can certainly believe. And this one," instead of tracing this last line, he chooses to tap at it, "indicates that you live a healthy life full of energy."

When Austria glances up this time, there s a small frown tugging at Gilbert's mouth, and his brows are furrowed the slightest. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn't, and for good reason - Roderich would surely hit him again for it and throw him from his house and, despite everything he has said, Gilbert is rather fond of his old rival's company, and he doesn't mind when they sit in silence like this. Roderich knows this and exploits it at every given chance, of course.

They fall into silence once again, leaving Roderich to feel the rest of the hand in peace. His fingers dance across the palm, pressing softly in some spots and brushing gently over others, composing a symphony on the skin. Each mound on Gilbert's hand tells him a story, each fine line a paragraph. Gilbert surely must be feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, as he is shifting even more than usual, and there's a twitch to his hands. Roderich takes the hint, however his curiosity is not yes satisfied, as he hasn t seen all of him yet, so he hushes under his breath and turns his hand over.

The backs of his hands are rather dry, and the skin is quite taut, pulled over the bones and muscles just so, leaving just enough room for them to flex. Roderich feels at the bones of his fingers, caressing each knuckle gently, getting a feel for them. They are rough and cracked, and there are numerous tiny scars laced across them. He traces the thicker of these with interest, imagining what Gilbert had hit to earn this one - though he probably just punched some glass in a drunken stupor, knowing him. He moves on, tracing the vein that bulges slightly, following it's wavering path down the back of his hand to his wrist.

The hand twitches in his grasp again, and Gilbert clears his throat. "Are you done now?" he asks, though there's a faint bit of colour on his cheeks that reaches his ears, and Roderich can t help but chuckle quietly, bringing Gilbert's hand to his lips.

"Yes, Gilbert, I'm done now."

xxxx

_Did you enjoy this? Find it atrocious? See something that you would like clarified in this story? Please, by all means, feel free to review. Every review is loved!_


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